


The Perfect Gift

by sea_spirit



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 10:39:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17140265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sea_spirit/pseuds/sea_spirit
Summary: Sansa and Brienne shop for the perfect gift. Later, when Brienne and Jaime exchange presents, things don't go exactly as planned.





	The Perfect Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DanyelN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanyelN/gifts).



> I was so excited when I got assigned to write for the lovely DanyelN for Secret Santa! Without her invite, I would have never found my way to JBO earlier this year, and I'm delighted at the chance to thank her with a little bit of Christmas fluff. :) 
> 
> Her words were presents, caroling, and Santa babydoll nightie.

“This is hopeless,” Sansa moaned, tossing a stack of silky, bangle-bedecked scarves back down on the display table.

“I don’t know why you wanted to come in here anyway.” Brienne glanced skeptically around the women’s clothing section of the Sunspear Boutique. The racks were stuffed with flowy, warm-toned garments cut with revealing necklines and slit sleeves. “Everything they have is much too…well, it isn’t really your mother’s taste.”

“I know,” Sansa lamented, looking crestfallen. “I just wanted to find her something different this year. She always gives me the perfect gift, and I give her a lame sweater or stupid fuzzy socks she never wears.”

“She’s going to like whatever you get her,” Brienne said consolingly. At the same time, she couldn’t help but think that if Sansa wanted to find Catelyn something perfect, perhaps she should have planned ahead a little more.

Sansa had, as usual, left her gift-buying until the last minute, and, also as usual, come begging to her best friend for help. She’d shown up on Brienne's doorstep that morning, flashing those big blue puppy-dog eyes and making heartfelt promises that she’d “owe her forever.” Cursing her inability to turn down a friend, Brienne had begrudgingly agreed to brave the streets of King’s Landing three days before Christmas—but only if Sansa threw an extra dozen of her famous lemon sugar cookies into her annual holiday tin.

But now, as she watched her friend look listlessly around the shop, the promise of baked treats hardly seemed worth it.

Sansa’s frown deepened. “I don’t know. Maybe we should try somewhere else?”

Exhaling a weary sigh, Brienne shifted the heavy shopping bags she carried from one hand to the other. The two of them had already trudged through what felt like at least half of the crowded, holiday-festooned shops in the city. If she had to act as Sansa’s pack mule while her friend scoured the racks of yet another store in pursuit of some mystical gift for Catelyn, Brienne thought she might go mad. She’d already seen enough twinkly lights, giant red bows, and sprigs of holly to last her until next Christmas.

Desperate for something— _anything_ —that Catelyn might like, Brienne scanned the boutique for possibilities. “It looks like they have some nice candles and bath salts and things,” Brienne suggested, gesturing toward the back of the shop. “Or maybe some perfume?”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Sansa murmured, beginning to weave her way through the tightly packed racks. “Mother loves things that smell nice.”

“She _is_ the last one on your list, right?” Brienne asked, squeezing her large frame along in Sansa’s wake. “Then we’re done?”

Sansa laughed. “Yes, Brienne, then we’re done. Unless you still wanted to find a different present for Jaime?”

Brienne pursed her lips. Jaime was the most difficult person in the world to shop for. He wasn’t one to collect a lot of stuff, and when he _did_ want something, he just bought it for himself.

She’d been keeping her eye out all day, but Brienne hadn’t spotted anything that suited him better than the new leather gloves and emerald green scarf she’d already bought him. _They_ certainly wouldn’t be Sansa’s idea of the perfect gift, but at least they were practical. He was always misplacing things like that, leaving them at the pub or the office or even her own apartment. She had a whole drawer full of “crap Jaime’s left here” that, to her bemusement, he never seemed to want to take home.

“No, I think I’ll just—”

“Ooh!” Sansa exclaimed, stopping in her tracks to lift something off the rack. “How about this? You’d look amazing in it.”

Turning toward her, Sansa stretched out her arm to hold the garment—a horrifyingly cheesy Santa babydoll nightie—up against Brienne’s long torso. The sheer red fabric hung barely a quarter of the way down her thighs, where it ended in a ruff of fake white fur. The same fluffy nonsense ran along its plunging neckline.

Reflexively, Brienne reached up to shove the flimsy nightie away from herself. “I most certainly would not.”

“Yes, you would,” Sansa insisted, her mouth twitching up at the corners. “I think Jaime would rather like it.”

Feeling a blush creep over her cheeks, Brienne snatched the negligee out of Sansa’s grasp and jammed it back on the rack. “You know Jaime and I are just friends.”

Sansa huffed. “You’re a pair of idiots, is what you are. When are you going to admit you’re in love with each other?”

“I’m not in love with him, Sansa,” Brienne argued, shaking her head. “I’m just fond of him. As a friend.”

“Yeah, so fond you’d like to tear his clothes off and…”

“Sansa!” Brienne hissed, darting her eyes nervously around the shop.  

“What? We both know it’s true,” Sansa replied, innocently widening her eyes. “He’s crazy about you, too, Brienne. Why else would he invite you to his family’s Christmas Eve party? You’re his _date_.”

“I am _not_. I’m just going for moral support. You know how much he hates his family.” Brienne’s shoulders slumped. “And you’re wrong. Jaime doesn’t feel that way about me. We’re just friends. We’ll always be just friends.”

Sansa pointed emphatically toward the babydoll. “Not if you bought this, you wouldn’t be. And the timing is perfect! When he comes to get you, you could—”

“What? Answer the door wearing that?” Brienne snorted. “He’d laugh at me. Or run away screaming.”

“I think you meant to say he’d drool all over you. Or maybe tackle you to the ground.”

“Would you please just let this go?” Brienne asked, a hint of desperation in her voice.  

“Okay, okay.” Sansa held up her hands. “I’m sorry. I just hate to see the two of you pining after each other—”

Brienne glared down at her friend, and Sansa snapped her mouth shut.

“Thank you,” Brienne sighed. “Can we get back to shopping now, please?”

“Fine,” Sansa conceded. As she began walking toward the back of the store, she turned to wink at Brienne over her shoulder. “But I still think I’m right.”

~*~*~

Brienne had just dropped peppermint tea bags in two mugs full of steaming water when she heard the knock on her door.

“Coming!” she yelled, hurrying through the kitchen door and into the small entrance hallway of her apartment.

“Merry Christmas, wench,” Jaime said, as soon as she swung open the door.

Her breath caught a little at the sight of him, with his dark wool jacket hugging his broad shoulders and a few snowflakes still melting in his shaggy golden hair. His green eyes crinkled as he held out a small package, wrapped in shiny blue paper sprinkled with silver Christmas trees.

“Merry Christmas, Jaime,” she returned, stepping out of the way to let him inside.

Her warm fingers brushed his chilly ones as she took the package from his gloveless, outstretched hands. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he teased, smirking. “You haven’t opened it.”

Rolling her eyes, Brienne headed back toward the kitchen as Jaime peeled off his coat. “Do we have time for tea?” she called out. “I’ve just made some.”

“We do if it’s peppermint,” he shouted back, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

Tucking Jaime’s present under her arm, she picked up the two mugs and carried them into the living room. Unsurprisingly, Jaime had already made himself comfortable on the end of her couch closest to the Christmas tree. She handed him one of the mugs and set the other, along with his gift, down on the coffee table.

“Should I have worn something else?” Brienne asked nervously, glancing down at her black slacks and deep blue sweater. She’d thought the latter was quite festive, with its little specks of silver, but now she felt appallingly underdressed.

Jaime dragged his gaze over her slowly, and her chest tightened. “Why? You look fine.”

“Well, I didn’t realize the dress code was…” She waved her hand vaguely at his expensive navy suit.

“That’s the dress code for _me_ , wench. Not you.” He took a sip of tea before casually adding, “Besides, we match.”

She blinked down at him, feeling the tightness in her chest bloom into an ache. Silently, she cursed Sansa for filling her head with foolish, romantic notions. He was her _friend_.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, patting the empty seat on the couch beside him. “Don’t you want to open your present?”

“Now?”

“Yes, now, Brienne. I’m fairly certain I won’t be sober enough to exchange gifts later.”

“It’s not going to be that bad, Jaime.”

He shrugged, taking another drink of his tea. “Maybe not. But Tyrion’s bringing his infamous Christmas punch. I’d strongly advise you against partaking, although you’ll probably need something to fortify your ears against his drunken caroling.”

Brienne couldn’t help but smile. “Caroling?”

“Oh, did I not mention that?” Jaime’s eyes twinkled up at her. “By the end of the night, he’ll be wandering around trying to convince everyone to join him for a rousing chorus of Silent Night.”

Imagining it, Brienne let out a low laugh. “Your father must love that.”

“He _hates_ it. But, you know Tyrion. That’s half the fun.” Grinning, Jaime set his mug down on the table and leaned over to peer at the small collection of gifts under the Christmas tree. “Now, stop stalling and point me in the direction of my present.”   

“Oh, it’s not there,” Brienne explained. “I’ll go get it.”

She hurried to her bedroom and grabbed his gift off her dresser. She’d still been hoping to find him a less boring present, though the fact that he'd neglected to wear gloves was making her feel the tiniest bit better about it.

“It’s right here, Brienne!” Jaime shouted from the other room.

She looked down at the package in her hands, wrapped in crimson paper with a big gold bow. It couldn’t be “right there.” It was right _here_.

By the time she returned to the living room, he had a box on his lap, half unwrapped. Puzzled, she sat on the couch next to him, picking up the torn paper and looking at the gift tag. It said “Jaime,” sure enough. In Sansa's looping hand.

The bottom fell out of Brienne’s stomach as she looked up just in time to see him pull out the ridiculous Santa nightie.

Eyebrows raised, he gaped at it for a long beat before a wide, delighted smile spread across his face. “What’s this?” he asked, a little wickedly. “Tyrion always says I can pull off anything, but this... I mean, red _is_ my color, but I generally prefer satin to lace.”

Oh _god_. She hadn’t noticed the lacy red bra cups.

“No,” Brienne blurted, making a wild swipe for the nightie as a fiery blush consumed her neck, face, and ears. But Jaime pulled it easily out of her reach. “Jaime, it’s not—that’s not for you. Sansa tried to convince me to buy it. She must have gotten it for me and snuck it under the tree.”

Again, she made to snatch the stupid thing away from him, but Jaime clutched it stubbornly to his chest.

“But it has _my_ name on it,” he insisted, still grinning.

“By _mistake_. Give it to me.” She held out her hand. “Jaime, please.”

“Riddle me this, wench. Why would Sansa want you to buy _this?_ ” Suddenly, his eyes grew strangely hot. “That Tormund fellow isn't back, is he?”

“God, no. Jaime, I've told you, it was _one_ date. I only went out with him because he wouldn’t stop asking me.”

“Who’s it for then?” he lilted, but there was an edge to the amusement in his voice.

“No one.”

“So, what?” he pressed. “Sansa just thought you needed some slinky new pjs?”

“Fine,” she surrendered, just wanting to bring this excruciating interlude to an end. “I’ll tell you. But you have to promise not to laugh.”

“Under the circumstances, I'm afraid that's a promise I’m not likely to keep.”

Irritated by how much he was enjoying this, she snapped, “Will you at least give it back to me?”

“Deal,” he eagerly agreed.

Brienne pressed her eyes shut in a mix of frustration and embarrassment. Sansa Stark was officially a dead woman. “You.”

“Me? Me, what?” Jaime asked, confused.

“She thought I should wear it today. For you.” Brienne stared determinedly at her lap, unable to look at him.

“Me,” he said again, but this time the word sounded strangled.

“Yes,” she replied, finally lifting her eyes to his. “I’ve told her a thousand times that we’re just friends, but you know how sh—”

But she was silenced by his lips colliding with hers.

His mouth, warm and soft, moved hungrily against her own, and the nightie fell to the floor, forgotten, as his hands gripped her upper arms to pull her closer. Astonished and overwhelmed and filled to bursting with desire for him, Brienne pressed back against him with a fervor equal to his own.

He smelled of cedar and citrus, and she could taste the peppermint on his lips. Her hands went to his chest without her permission, and he felt warm and solid and familiar beneath her palms.

God, she’d wanted him for years. _Years._

“You kissed me back,” he panted, when he finally pulled his mouth from hers.

“What?” she asked dazedly.

“I thought you might punch me in the face for that, but you kissed me back.”

“I…,” she began, but her brain couldn’t yet form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence.

Smiling, he leaned forward to kiss her again, more tenderly this time, before leaning his forehead against hers. Then, to her alarm, he began to laugh.

“What's so funny?” She was admittedly inexperienced when it came to romance, but a man _laughing_ after kissing her surely couldn’t be a good sign.

Jaime bit his bottom lip and, in spite of her rising anxiety, Brienne felt a bolt of lust shoot through her. God, she wanted to kiss him again. She never wanted to stop kissing him.

“Open your gift,” he instructed, pointing at the present still perched on the coffee table.

“What? _Now?_ ”

“Just open it, Brienne.”

Wrinkling her brow, she reached for the box and ripped off the shiny blue paper. When she lifted the lid, she found herself staring at a plane ticket with “Brienne Tarth” printed on it.

“You’re sending me to the Summer Isles?” she asked.

For weeks, she’d been complaining about everyone she knew jetting off on tropical vacations while she was stuck in the cold slush of King’s Landing. It was undeniably sweet and far too generous of him to book her a trip, but she couldn’t understand why the hell he thought it was funny.

Jaime shook his head. “No, wench. I’m not sending you. I’m _taking_ you.”

She swallowed thickly. “You are?”

He nodded, taking the box from her grasp and tossing it on the table. “Tyrion said I should catch you under some mistletoe at the party tonight and...how did he put it? ‘Put us all out of our goddamned misery.’” His warm hands closed around her own. “Instead, I thought I’d whisk you away to the shores of the Sunset Sea and tell you I've been in love with you for three years.”

“Jaime,” she murmured, a little doubtfully. “We've only known each other for three years.”

Tilting his head forward, Jaime looked up at her with affectionate exasperation on his handsome face.

Oh. _Oh._

“Here I thought I was going to take you by surprise, and then Sansa Stark goes and buys _that._ ” He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. “Apparently my admiration of you wasn’t quite as subtle as I thought.”

“You _did_ take me by surprise,” she declared earnestly. “If I’d known, I’d have...”

“What?” he prompted hopefully. “You’d have what?”

Brienne pulled her hands out of his grip and brought them up to cradle his face. “I’d have told you I loved you ages ago, you stupid man.”

His smile widened into something so bright and dazzling it almost hurt her eyes. Then, with a sharp tug, he had her in his arms.

This time, he kissed her roughly, frantically, as if he were determined to make up for three years of lost kisses with just this one. Brienne certainly wasn’t going to argue with his strategy.  

But when he began planting kisses up the edge of her jaw, she suddenly remembered. “Jaime, the party.”

“Hmm?” he rumbled, letting his mouth wander lazily down her neck. The rasp of his stubble made her shiver.

“Your family’s party,” she repeated weakly. “We should get going.”

“No, we shouldn’t,” he drawled. “All I want for Christmas is to stay here with you.” She felt him smile against the hollow of her throat. “Well, that, and to see you wearing my present.”

Even through the fog of lust, Brienne balked. “I am not wearing that thing. Not now, not ever.”

“I don’t know about that, Brienne,” he replied, pulling back to meet her eyes. At the same time, he snuck a hand under the hem of her sweater and began dancing his fingers across her lower back. “I’m a very persuasive man.”

“No one is _that_ persuasive,” she maintained, sliding her hand through his golden hair.

“I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you, then,” he murmured, flashing her an impish smile. “After all, it would be a shame to let such a perfect gift go to waste.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays to all!


End file.
